Facets
by Sanity through Madness
Summary: There are many facets to every relationship in life. They can be at any extreme they can be as cruel or as caring as the participants want it to be. But there is always a fine line between pleasure and pain... KakaSaku, SasuSaku
1. Chapter 1

Facets

-Sanity through Madness

I can't place any claims on Naruto. This venture will be a couple chapters long, though I am not entirely sure whether or not it will have a truly happy ending. It'll have KakaSaku. It'll have SasuSaku. This is also my first attempt at doing a Naruto fanfiction.

…and I _do_ need a beta reader for some of the future chapters. Anyone interested? Leave a signed review or an e-mail address, and I'll get back to someone.

This chapter is KakaSaku. I believe it abides by the rating system – if I'm wrong, let me know.

* * *

Chapter One . Like Violence

* * *

She comes to him when she is angry.

She always knows that he understands, and for that alone, she could almost come to love him.

Except she had learned, quite some time ago, that 'love' did not apply to the renowned Copy-Nin of Konohagakure, Hatake Kakashi. He stated, quite clearly, that he had no use for love, and that it was a foolish notion that could easily get people killed.

She understands that, as well. She had seen others cut down in battle; people in their prime, dying because of preoccupation, because they had loved ones who wanted them to come home, and clouded their minds.

But still, she thinks, she wouldn't mind hearing it from him, for once. If only to have the memory of those words, spoken to her not out of obligation, but perhaps in respect and understanding and passion.

But she realizes that she wants it all. And she just cannot have everything that she desires.

That, too, is a cause for anger.

He always seems to know just where to touch her, to cause a cease in her seething fury. He always seems to know just how to diffuse her sometimes-volatile temper. He always seems to know just what to do.

He is, in her jaded and young eyes, perfect. A perfect man, a perfect ninja, and a perfect lover.

But he is far from it, and will always be the first to attest to that. He does not want to be placed on a pedestal. But he is also not comfortable being a man, having seen far too much violence, and with far too much blood on his hands.

That is why she goes to him.

They can be imperfect together.

He knows that when she is angry, she is impatient. That she does not feel like waiting. That she does not feel like taking things slow and easy.

He has always been fine with that.

Over time, he has learned the fastest way to get her out of her clothing; a fact that she rarely notices when incensed, and doesn't bother thinking about when she is levelheaded.

He has come to respect her in her anger, enjoying it at times, and always listening as she wore her ire out on him, first verbally, and then physically.

He has never once asked her whom she thinks about when they are together, nor does she ask it of him. They are content in their familiar unconcern. Neither of them are eager to hear that they might not be the focal point of the other's attentions.

He imagines that she thinks of Uchiha Sasuke. At times, he is right. Much of her anger is towards him, but so much of her passion. When he is alone, and thinking of her, he considers it, and believes that while the Uchiha might love her well, he does not love her wisely.

And that is why, he imagines, she comes to him, instead.

She doesn't know who he thinks of. There are times when she wants to imagine that he is focused solely on her. She is greedy, and she knows it, but she just can't seem to help herself. She doesn't want to. But she is forever fueled by doubts, cast by her other relationship, the weak one she tries to share with Sasuke.

She is no longer sure if she keeps Sasuke because it is what she wants, or if it is merely because it has been her habit for so long.

But when they are together, they think of each other, and neither one is willing to divulge that there is more to this relationship than they want to admit.

Perhaps that is why they never talk about 'them'. They were not meant to be grouped together. And that is why they only think of themselves as friends.

As friends, they have a rapport, albeit a rapport that he will steadfastly refuse to grant to his other two former students. He has no desire to know either of them in the intimate manner that he knows her. As friends, they do not have to worry about the future, or their 'forevers', or even their tomorrows. There is a veil of secrecy there. It is their only safety net.

As lovers, they are compatible. She has never said no, and he has never tried to make her do that which she is unwilling to do. He knows when she just needs to be held, and she, in turn, knows when to just pay attention to him, and to hell with her own wants. They both give of themselves until it hurts.

That is when she stays away.

That is when she knows she might say something she does not want to reveal. It is not as though it is a secret – but to speak it would break the taboo they have placed upon themselves, and might ruin the only good thing they can hold on to.

He knows how to redirect her anger. He knows just how to take her, and make her forget, if only for a little while, why she is so upset. He knows where to caress, and just how much pressure to apply, to make her pliant in his arms.

But he does not mind when she is angry. He does not try to make her calm down. He will take her when she is angry. He will allow her to take her pleasure of him, because it is simply what she wants.

There had been times, in the past, when she had simply taken what she had come for, and left in a flurry of pink hair and dark clothes. He knows that those are perhaps the most dangerous times to speak with her, for some things are best left unspoken.

He has enough regrets in his life. He does not want to add her to them.

He will allow her to go. As much as he says he does not want her to stay, there are times when he thinks that her might just ask her to. It is always brushed off as a question to be addressed 'next time'.

For that question, 'next time' never seems to come.

When her fury drops, there are times when she regrets what she does. She regrets simply leaving, without offering him anything further. She realizes that it is entirely unfair, but she does it simply because she does not want to face him. …and he has always let her.

She does not like the fact that she uses him, even as he uses her. She does not want to be used by anyone, even him. There is a part of her that thinks that maybe, just maybe, she will not head for the door when they are finished. That maybe, just maybe, she will stay for a little while longer, and simply take in the warmth of his body. That perhaps it might not be such a crime to stay for a little while longer, and feel safe, wrapped in his arms.

They would be renowned procrastinators, if anyone knew the sheer amount of things they put off, and words they left unspoken, when they are with each other.

Tonight is as many other nights. He takes her roughly, on the floor of the living room of his apartment. And she is, as always, a willing participant. She is almost eager to help him undress, to run her delicate hands over the hard ridges of scarring that litter his chest and back. But it is when he finally takes her that she finds completion, and the peace of mind.

She does not think of Sasuke. He is the furthest thing from her mind, though tonight's rage had been specially devoted to him. All she can think about is the silver-haired ex-sensei kneeling between her thighs, and then she no longer wants to think.

On nights like these, one would say that there is little joy in their coupling – they are rough and hard and deep. She is taking all of him, her fingernails leaving pinkish-red furrows along his back, with a generous portion of crescent-shaped indentations. And he is returning the roughness with something of similar ilk. He grips her thighs almost to the point of bruising – he had occasionally left marks there, to be honest – but she makes no attempt to stop him.

As his teeth rake over her collarbone, irritating the skin, only to soothe away the hurt with his warm tongue, she only voices her exultation. His tongue laves over the pulse-point, trailing along her jugular vein, and all she can think of is that this is a certain freedom allowed only to him – she trusts him with her life, and revels in the desires that he stirs within her, even as he seeks to fulfill her lust.

It is with little grace or beauty that she drags his head down to her own, to kiss him with a passion she has not known with anyone else. Tonight, it is with particularly harsh movements that she brings his head down. With the vaguest wince, she can feel their teeth click together – teeth were probably not meant to be abused in such a callous manner – but she has already forgotten the grate of enamel, and is focused on her less than chaste attempts to claim his mouth for her own, if only for tonight.

It is with equal amounts of awkwardness and tenderness that he rearranges his grip on her thighs, already realizing that she would be sporting some magnificent bruising along her hips, and that a change of location for his hands would probably be prudent. He thinks that he is lucky to have the chance to borrow her like this – he does not think he deserves to have her, in the way that she deserves to be kept.

He touches her in a way that no one else does. There is an almost tragic gentleness in the way that he loves her. Sometimes, on nights like this, the combination of his hard body and careful hands is so beautiful she thinks she might cry.

She thinks that she may be enjoying herself too much when she finds the fact that he persists wearing his hitai-ate, no matter what they are doing, almost endearing. She can feel the cool metal pressing against her brow, and realizes, as often happens, that there will be, for a short time, a portion of the Konoha leaf imprinted at the top of her cheek.

It is the fact that he still feels the need to hold things back from her that bothers her. It sings a bitter note in her heart, and it is this bitter tune that she always thinks of, when she thinks of the two of them joining like this.

Trust and mistrust. Passion and tranquility. Violence and tenderness. Comfort and awkwardness.

There are many facets to this non-relationship.

It is then that it sneaks up on her, catching her unaware. She is never able to finish piecing the two of them together. He is consistent, in giving her a release, and only taking his if she wants him to.

Tonight, in her recklessness, she wants him to.

Her long, slender legs shift, to wrap around his narrow hips, to bring them together in a renewed vigor. When he pauses for a moment, as though waiting for a further assent from her, she only tightens her legs around him, and pressing against him to the point of engorgement.

He knows when to accept her invitation. She is not always this bold, but he finds that it is not an entirely unwelcome development. He slides back into her, pushing relentlessly into her. His eye watched, as her head tilted back against the slightly threadbare carpeting, her eyes closed, her lips forming some wordless murmur.

He thinks he has never seen anything quite so…exquisite.

It is when he feels her tightening around him once more, that he finds he really cannot help himself. Nor is she giving him the chance to.

It is with her characteristic stubbornness that she holds her position. Her legs had been locked around his waist, and appeared to have been imitating a vise, that was all the use he could get out of movement. …it was something he could have gotten out of, if he had wanted to, but with her insistence, he found that he did not want to.

Her eyes are closed, and he can tell that she is peaking a second time. And for a moment, he felt that he could not deny her what she wanted. He spilled himself within her, and it was only after she came down from her high that her legs loosened, before finally relinquishing their hold. He allowed himself a moment to come back to himself, before he took painstaking care to roll to the side, dragging her onto her side.

As good as their physical relationship was, he still felt a little uncomfortable. She was not one for tenderness – at least, with him – and frankly, neither was he.

But he did take a moment to press his lips against her forehead, taking a leisurely smell of her shampoo.

And she let him.

Tonight, they stayed as they were for longer than they usually did. It was when the floor got a little too cool, in the cessation of their impassioned activities that they finally managed to rouse themselves from their relative comfort.

She was the first to rise, and as she stepped away from him, he could see, by the light of the window, the wetness still on her thighs reflecting what little light there was. It was rather fascinating to watch, and he could feel his body contemplating just one more time. But suppression was one of his talents, and he quietly rose, to gather her things while she tidied herself in the bathroom.

She gave a murmur of appreciation when she left the bathroom, and quickly began to dress herself. …though, after taking a long, deliberate glance at her partner in crime, and put on her panties last.

He savored this glance, of her naked beneath her skirt. It was a most intriguing sight, one that he rarely got of her.

But she was soon finished, and set her clothing to rights, smoothing her skirt down over her toned thighs. When she turned, for his perfunctory inspection, he noticed a stray print along one of her thighs, and with a gentle hand, tugged her skirt down, to cover the marking.

She offered him an almost shy smile. She was never entirely sure how she was supposed to act, right about now.

That was all right. He didn't expect much of her, by way of behavior. They were, after all, only in this sordid situation to be of use to each other.

"…good night, Kakashi…" And then she was gone.

He took a last look around his living room, and made a half-hearted note that he needed new carpeting, one of these years. It was getting entirely too cold on the floor, or perhaps it was just him getting older.

Regardless of the disarray, he simply went into the bathroom himself, and turned the tap in the shower, stepping inside, and welcoming the first blast of cold water.

Sakura dealt with her rages and sorrows with him.

After she left, all he could do was try to make his own penance in the shower.

It never worked.

* * *

Okay… I wrote this all in one go. And it's not as bad as I thought it would be. I think. I like it, personally. Which is a rare occurrence, when it comes to thinking about my own work. But it's the opinion of the readers that matters. Feedback is nice, but it isn't my be-all-end-all. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter of "Facets".

…hell, regardless of whether or not you like it, I'll continue it. I have a few chapters done already – I'm not letting that time have been in vain.

- StM


	2. For Better Or Worse

Facets

-Sanity through Madness

_I can't place any claims on Naruto. This is the second chapter of "Facets". This is probably going to be the first chapter to undergo extensive revision when more of the story comes up – to be honest, I had a hard time with this chapter. Content-wise, it is extremely short.  
_

_This is a SasuSaku chapter, if you're wondering. KakaSaku fans have the option of just skipping over, but I'd recommend reading the author's note at the end of this chapter, simply to make sense of a few things in chapter four ( chapter three is a flashback! )._

_And here's to hoping that the people who did leave reviews awhile ago still remember this story. It's been over a year since my last update - I know, I deserve to be drawn and quartered because I'm a horrible procrastinator._

_But an update is an update. Chapter three - with all the KakaSaku intact - is already done, and just going to wait a little longer before being posted.  
_

* * *

Chapter Two . For Better or Worse

* * *

Sliding into her is like sliding into some exquisite oil. 

She is always ready for him. She is always willing to accept him, even in the dead of night, when he awakens, and finds her in his arms. When he comes back from missions, battered and bruised and feeling _alive_, she makes herself available to him, for she, too, knows that sometimes brushing death can be the one thing to make one truly appreciate life.

He has come to cherish the sounds she makes. The pants, the unintelligible whispers, the speechless mewls – they are for him, and him alone, to hear.

As she shifts beneath him, voicing broken pleas, entreating for him to continue and for him not to stop, he only gives a slight smirk, immediately slowing his actions, prompting a stronger reaction from her, as she cries out in frustration and pleasure.

He rarely denies her anything. But tonight, he feels it is necessary, and since she has not yet forced him into a more dominant role, he feels entitled to take his leisure of her body.

After all, she has never complained about it.

He can feel her legs sliding up past his thighs, to join loosely around his hips, pressing gently, to urge him closer. It is almost ritual between them, as he presses himself further into her, before her legs tighten around his hips.

He doesn't really listen as a ragged moan tears its way from her throat, mostly because he is preoccupied with trying to supress one of his own. He is lost inside her; the battle was over long ago, and they both know it.

He feels as though sparks have gone off behind his eyelids, and he's wedged firmly between her thighs, and it certainly wasn't as though they were ever particularly _careful_ to begin with -  
_after all, she has never told him not to_  
- and he's finishing inside her, and she feels as though her body might explode, traitorous as it is.

His arms lose strength for a moment, and he gingerly lays atop her for a moment, his breath catching in his throat, his senses wearing off from the shock that completion always seemed to bring.

He does not remain in contact with her for long, moving himself to the side, and an appropriate distance away, to avoid any uninvited touches on her behalf.

That is one of the rules he made.

She has never tried to break it.

But tonight - for whatever reason - she does. Rather hesitantly at first, one of her small, graceful hands brushing against his, trailing softly up his arm.

He started at first, but calmed himself rather quickly. After all, what did lovers do, if not touch each other? After all, -  
_she was always the one to wash blood out of his hair after a hard mission ( neither of them would have it any other way )_  
- they had been 'together' for a few years. It was natural.

Normal.

His hand reached towards the nightstand, pulling open the drawer a little less than carefully, almost upending the drawer from its tracks, as he searches by touch, trying to find one specific thing. His finger brushes against something suspiciously soft, and he pulls it out. He does not bother to return the drawer along its tracks, as he rolls over, to face the smooth, graceful back of his partner. "Sakura…"

"…yeah?" She replies, after a long minute. He can recognize that she is tired, and believes he can recognize an undertone of disapproval. She rolls onto her stomach, her head shifting in his direction, her half-open green eyes watching him.

He knows that she is not as tired as she wants him to think.

"I want you to take this." He holds out his hand, clutching whatever he had pulled from his nightstand.

After a long moment, she turns to face him, the blanket catching with her movement, and dragging down, until the majority of her modest chest is visible. She makes no move to cover herself, mostly because she is unsure what is expected of her. She takes it, and after a moment of feeling it, discovers it to be a small jewelry box. "Oh, Sasuke-kun…"

"Open it." His tone of voice brooks no room for her to argue.

She opens the box, and feels inside, finding a ring. "Sasuke… You can't be… Are you…?"

Instead of an outpouring of acceptance or denial of his sudden proposal, she seemed…lost, somehow. She was instead questioning it, and sounded as though she were trying to convince herself of the idea.

"Yes. I want you to be my wife, Sakura."

"I…" She trailed off, studying the ring in the palm of her hand for a long moment, her eyes jumping between him and the ring. "I…don't know what to say, Sasuke…"

"…say yes, Sakura. Be my wife. Help me give the Uchiha family a solid foundation. Have my children. You would do well, I think, as a woman of my clan. _My_ woman."

He could see the indecision in her eyes. He did not like it. She was supposed to say yes, and agreed to marry him. She was not supposed to look as though she were caught between a rock and a hard place.

"I…just need some time…to think, Sasuke." She said, her voice soft, and rather unlike herself, at the moment.

"I want you to wear it, as you think." He said, his voice carefully neutral, trying not to betray what he was feeling at the moment.

He was unsure of himself.

Hesitantly, she slipped the cool band onto the ring finger of her right hand. It was not a yes. It was not a no.

But it was a promise to think.

Feeling the bed rock, as Sasuke turned over, to face away from her, she made the same movements, still staring at the ring that now stood out on her right hand.

Sasuke had just asked her to marry him. That was something she had competed for since she was but a child. And she had won him, in the end.

This was what she had wanted. This was what she wanted to do for the rest of her life.

…wasn't it?

"…merry Christmas, Sakura." His voice, as quiet as ever, spoke to her in the dark, though it was, perhaps, a little softer than it usually would have been.

"...merry Christmas, Sasuke." She whispered, even as she disentangled a blonde hair from the blanket, to drop it carefully behind the headboard.

He had his infidelities; she had hers. She had never expected him to be that faithful, anyways. She certainly wasn't.

...but at least her transgressions were discreet.

* * *

_...wow. I felt odd writing this. When I started watching Naruto, I have to admit, Sasuke had the bad-boy appeal. But then there was Kakashi, and it became "Sasuke? ...who's Sasuke?" And now I don't paticularly love or hate the Uchiha - he just becomes a necessary plot device. He complicates everything. ...I'm still not quite happy with how this came out - editing comes later, I suppose._

_...and yes, Sasuke gets a short chapter, because I really didn't know where to go with this one - only that this chapter absolutely _had_ to go second. _

_Marriage. They are both young, but they are also so old. For Sasuke, it is a step towards gaining himself an Uchiha heir, as well as the guarantee that he will always have one person in his corner. For Sakura... Well, we can always find out what she thinks later... _

_And yes, Sasuke cheats on Sakura. It's only fair, really. I'm still not sure what to do with him in the long run._

_  
- StM _


	3. A Little Death

Facets

-Sanity through Madness

_I can't place any claims on Naruto. And wow, a third chapter? I'm proud of myself. I have this thing planned out. …for the most part, anyways. I'm still not too sure about the end, and I suppose that's going to be where reviews come in to play. But let's see a little more…_

_Oh, and you should all worship the keyboard **kakashidiot** types on, because she was my beta for this chapter a looong time ago. I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to finally get it up! Thank you for doing the beta work!  
_

* * *

Chapter Three . A Little Death

* * *

It has been about two weeks, since the last time she came to him, seeking a cooling of her fury. That is about the normal span of time. She is a strong woman, one who only seeks him out when her frustrations become too much for her to bear.

It was part of their unspoken agreement.

They were both free to do what they would please in those drawn-out breaks. She usually throws herself into her work with a renewed vigor. He usually takes whatever mission the Godaime will allow him to take.

And sometimes, she does not come to him for over a month.

Those are the times in which he thinks that she has finally resolved her own problems, and no longer wants or needs him as an outlet. But those thoughts have always been quickly abolished, because she has had many opportunities to back out of their arrangement in the past, and still she comes.

He knows that there is a part of him that will sorely miss her when she is gone. There is nothing that he can do about that.

Nothing he would want to do about it.

But it is in these periods that he must spend alone that he has time to think about the pink-haired kunoichi. He knows that he is in her thrall, somewhat, and to an extent, she is probably in his, as well. But it is a bad thing, for both of them.

A ninja could never be guaranteed a tomorrow.

Such were the perils of their lifestyle.

He has taken two missions already; the paperwork has already been completed and handed in. There had been no others that required his skills, and there was nothing left for him to do at the moment.

So he decided that he just needed to be alone.

On the slightly battered couch in his living room ( he was a bachelor, what need did he have for fancy things? ), he sat, aimlessly swirling the contents of a wineglass. He was not one for drinking often, but tonight, it had seemed appropriate.

He was not used to feeling…lonely. He had lived the vast majority of his life alone, and he had been perfectly…well, satisfied, if not very happy. But he could never remember having someone quite like Sakura disturbing his solitary existence.

At least, not until the first time she had come to him.

* * *

_Even from the memorial, the noise of the celebration in Konoha was still quite audible. The Tanabata festival was rumored, every year, to make wishes come true. And every year, people would go._

_But it was quieter by far at the memorial._

_In the thick July heat, there was little to be done. Which was why the Copy-nin had been out at the memorial, serving just a little more of his self-imposed sentence, sitting in the shade, his back resting lightly against the trunk of a tree. But today, he was not alone, for the noticeable pink-haired kunoichi was leaning against the same tree, rather close to the jounin._

_"I'm just…happy that she is willing to give him another chance. He deserves that second chance." She said, rather insistent upon not letting the silence sit for too long._

_"…do you really think so?" Kakashi asked, looking up at his former student with mild curiosity. He had known that when she was younger, she had been entirely pro-Sasuke, and it appeared that time had changed nothing about her feelings towards the young Uchiha._

_"Yeah. He does." She replied, a little defensively, shifting a calculating glance his way. "He really has changed, you know."_

_"I imagine." He said, rather dryly. Then again, the majority of his interaction with the returned Uchiha was with the rare sparring session. It had taken him some time to come to terms with the facts that the student he had been perfectly capable of thrashing just a few years ago was now quite capable of breaking him in half. He did not like getting old._

_"I think he'll be okay. I know he will be. He's got Naruto and Shikamaru and Ino for his team. They'll be home soon." She said, idly swinging her legs from her perch in the tree, a few yards above her sensei's head._

_A faint rustle, and the partially masked jounin turned a page of his book._

_"…you still suck at making conversation." She muttered, bringing one of her legs up onto the branch, and wrapping her arms around it, her chin resting daintily on her knee._

_"I suppose I do." He replied noncommittally._

_"I could get a better conversation out of Ino. Except then I wouldn't get a chance to say anything. You listen just fine. You just don't say much."_

_  
"Mm."_

_"…you're not really listening to me anymore, are you?"_

_"Of course."_

_She sighed. She knew he was listening, but he was being difficult. He was always difficult when it came to his former students. "You're getting old."_

_"I suppose I am." Another page turned._

_"Old and boring. I hope I'm not around when you get senile. Then you're probably going to start talking. And you'll tell everyone more than they ever wanted to know about anything."_

_"Age does have its privileges."_

_"You and Sasuke should totally hook up. I can see it now: the long, drawn-out silences, where you'll be like, "…", and he'll be like "…", and you two will fall in love in a heartbeat. You'd make a positively gorgeous couple."_

_He sighed, and closed the book. She was refusing to leave him in peace. "Are you simply jealous because Sasuke left you behind so easily, or because your friend was the one selected to be his support, and not you?"_

_"Why should I be jealous?" She snapped, folding her legs under her, her arms crossing over her chest, as she leaned against the tree's trunk. "There isn't a blessed thing for me to be jealous about, because nothing is ever going to happen." She stated, her voice tight._

_"And why is it entirely up to him to show initiative? You're a modern girl. You should know when to do a little chasing." He said, before appearing on the branch beside her._

_She colored. She knew that she probably should be trying a little harder to net Sasuke, if she wanted him. She did want him. But she had spent so much time chasing after him, and for those advances to be repelled, that she was suddenly shying away from what she had wanted for quite some time._

_"Or perhaps you simply need to give up on Sasuke, and find someone who's interested in doing a little chasing himself."_

_"And where am I going to find one of those, eh?" She replied, scowling slightly. She wasn't interested in anyone but Sasuke, at least in that way._

_"Oh, I'm not sure I know where to pick up young men. You might be better off asking one of your own friends for that."_

_"…you're can be a real jerk sometimes, you know that?"_

_"I pride myself on it, actually." He replied._

_She could tell by the tone of his voice, and the characteristic closing of his visible eye, that he was smiling, probably even laughing at her. And that wasn't doing anything to help her. "Why don't you try chasing me? Or are you too old to go chasing after a pretty young thing like me, or are you living some secret sordid lifestyle that I don't particularly need to know about?"_

_There was a slight cant to his head, now, as he stared at her, slightly surprised._

_It was rare for any of them to catch him off guard. She was proud of that, actually. He was so levelheaded and calm that it made her feel childish. To see any surprise in his eye was an accomplishment. "…what, no witty remark?"_

_"No, not at the moment." He managed to get out, before he managed to school his features to his neutral expression._

_"…have I really stumbled on some secret? If I did, ew." She said, getting to her feet. She was feeling a little better now, actually. She should try to catch him off-guard more often. It was a quick mood-lifter._

_"No, you haven't. I just didn't think you were that kind of girl."_

_"And just what is that kind of girl?"_

_Oh, you know." He offered vaguely, before one of his hands rose, lightning-quick, and delivered a swat to her backside._

_She squealed, flailing slightly, before she darted off the branch, to save herself the fall. "What the hell was that for?" She spit out, staring up in shock._

_"You said you wanted to be chased. I would start running, if I were you. I'm only giving you a minute to take a head start." He said, snapping open his book to one of the well-read portions, and settled himself in._

_"But, but…" She colored, her cheeks darkening a few shades deeper than her hair. "It's not like I was serious!" She yelled, rather in vain. Even as she was trying to tell herself that he was just kidding, her feet were taking tentative steps backwards._

_"…fifty seconds."_

_She took off, her feet light, her only focus to get away from him. Was it possible that he had gone completely mad? It was sad when they went so young, but she didn't really feel like just standing around and waiting to find out._

_He actually gave her about two minutes. The book had opened up to a rather nice section, and he felt rather obliged to continue reading. It wasn't as though his student could pull a fast one on him, no matter how strong she was now._

_She had spent a little while fretting. There was a decided lack of places to hide, and a concealing jutsu would only draw his attention all the more quickly. She went straight for one of the few places she knew was out of sight. She could only hope that he might not remember it had been where she had been hiding during the first bell test._

_He took his time. He was in no hurry, to be honest. He could still sense her chakra quite close by, and he had a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly where she was trying to hide herself away. Still, he strolled into the clearing with unconcern, not looking towards the stand of shrubbery where she was hiding._

_She froze, not daring to breathe for a long moment. He knew. And she was suddenly getting the feeling that she didn't like being toyed with like this._

_He stood still for a moment, his back to her._

_She lunged out of the brush, making a dash to escape._

_He whirled, and he moved a lot faster than a man his age had the right to. One of his arms circled around her waist, and he used her own movement against her, swinging her alongside him, as his grip on her waist tightened. "You ran. But not fast enough, I'm afraid." He said, sounding vaguely disappointed in her failure to escape._

_She squirmed like a woman possessed, trying to break his hold on her. But he was not letting up, and didn't seem likely to. She struck out, and he responded by grabbing the limb. When the other arm came around, he promptly moved her, effectively pinning both of her arms between their chests. "…pervert." She huffed, glaring in a rather incensed manner at him._

_And he took her look in stride. "You said you wanted to be chased. I only did as you asked."_

_She scowled, looking down, pondering the feasibility of freeing her arms._

_His free hand came up, and with surprising gentleness, slid under her chin, and tilted her faces upwards, just enough to press his mask to her wide forehead._

_Her eyes widened, and immediately ceased her struggles. She just didn't get it. So help her, she didn't get it._

_He released her after a long moment, running one of his hands through her hair, roughing it up, as though she were just a child once more._

_She stared, not sure what to think. And then she turned sharply on her heel, and walked off, her posture stiff and unyielding._

* * *

_He had, in all honesty, expected that to have been the end of it all. He had delivered a shock to her, and he hoped that she had learned something from it. There was still a part of him that wanted to teach her, but now it was her choice whether or not she wanted to learn that she should start to watch what she said._

_He didn't expect for her to come to his home, standing in the doorway, her shoulders slouched and her face downcast, as she muttered something that sounded vaguely like, "May I come in, sensei?"_

_And far be it for him to deny her that. He had ushered her in, and closed the door behind her. By the time he had returned his attention to her once more, she was already sitting on his couch, staring rather intently at the old carpeting on the floor._

_"…is there something I can help you with, Sakura?"_

_"…why?" She asked, looking up at him, her large green eyes as serious as he had ever seen them._

_"Because you invited me to." He answered quite simply, stepping softly until he was standing in front of the pink-haired kunoichi. "And you've rarely been good at holding your tongue."_

_"So that was what, an object lesson?" She asked, a slightly angry note slipping into her voice. "Were you trying to make a point?"_

_"No, actually. That was just something I felt like doing."_

_"…why?"_

_"It served as an adequate shock, did it not? I don't believe you were quite as concerned with your problems as you had been, were you?"_

_"I don't believe you!" She said, rising to her feet, her eyes glittering with fury. "You just don't go around doing that!" She said, jabbing one of her fingers into his chest for emphasis. "It's not like I was serious or anything!"_

_"If you had really wanted to get away, you would have gone back home." He said, stepping closer to her, angling his head so he could meet her incensed stare. His face was as calm as it ever was._

_For some reason, his composure was bothering her. She didn't like being in this predicament. He had the upper hand, and he was rubbing it in her face, with his stupid calm. Angrily, she lifted her head, and pressed her lips against his, through the mask. Her eyes closed – right now, she didn't want to see him. But she had to try to get some advantage here._

_…she had been more effective than she had thought. For the second time that day, she caught him off guard. He looked at her closed eyes, before one of his hands came up, insinuating itself in his hair, before tugging lightly, to bring her head away. Upon parting, her eyes opened. "…and what was that for?"_

_"…because that was something I felt like doing." She replied, schooling her expression to one more blank, one that was less of the child he knew, and more of the woman she had become while he hadn't been looking._

_"…and is that the only thing you felt like doing?"_

_"…I'd be lying if I said that was it." She said, her voice suddenly picking up a new note, one that he had never heard her use  
before._

_"…and what else is there?"_

_"…this." She said softly, her hands moving slowly up his chest, to his neck, to his face, before hesitating at his cheeks. She seemed unsure for a moment, before her fingers curled under the mask's edge, and she drew it down, her eyes watching his._

_He made no move to stop her. As she slowly pulled it down, the material tickled, though he did not change his expression._

_It was only when the clingy black material was pooled around his neck that she finally tore her eyes from his gaze, to take in the sight of his face for the first time, well, ever. His features were very clearly defined, and he was all at once everything she had suspected, and everything she had not. His nose was straight, suiting him quite easily. His features were…entirely normal. He really hadn't been hiding anything underneath that mask, other than a face that was entirely beautiful in its understated refinement. She could see some of the scar that crossed over his left eye. A little hesitantly, her eyes turned to his one visible. They darted to the hitai-ate and back, but at the slight shake of his head, she showed no inclination to remove the headband. Shyly, she tilted her face up towards his, carefully pressing her lips against his own._

_He did not respond to her attentions at first. It is only when she began to move away that he took action, the hand in her hair serving to hold her still, as he brought his lips down on hers in an almost punishing kiss. He could see her eyes widen in surprise, before they fluttered closed, and she responded quite willingly. He felt one of her hands moving to the back of his neck, pressing gently, to keep him where he was._

_She wasn't unschooled in this art. She proves herself to be almost surprisingly skilled, as she responded to his overture by offering him her mouth quite willingly, and reciprocating._

_His hand disentangled itself from her hair, though he did not remove it from the back of her head. His other hand crept around her waist, much as it had done but a few hours earlier, rubbing the exposed patch of skin between her shirt and skirt, his thumb rubbing the ridge of her spine almost idly._

_He can feel her shiver, a not entirely unpleasant sensation, as it brought her another step closer, just shy of completely pressing her body against his. The hand on her back pressed lightly, beckoning for her to make the final step. And she does, her hips swaying slightly, before she is standing full against him, and his mouth is ravishing hers with a little less restraint._

_She can feel him, and finds it is not quite as bad as she had always figured it would be. She recognizes, with a lascivious thrill, that he is growing hard against the inside of her thigh, and suddenly cannot remember why she came to his apartment in the first place. But it is no longer important, she rationalizes, as a tight coil of heat is starting to build in her lower abdomen, spiraling deliciously higher with every move he makes._

_As he is in the process of devouring her mouth, he is, for a moment, struck by a brief pang of what might have been guilt. This was not blurring the teacher-student relationship – it was erasing the line entirely. But he was simply a man, and not the most honorable of men. It is with some regret that he finally manages to wrench his head away from hers, looking down at her with an almost wistful look in his eye._

_"…what is it?" She asked, shyly, uncertain. Had she done something wrong? Was there something displeasing about her?_

_"…I can't." He said, though he sounded as though he were hoping to find himself mistaken, as though praying for the doubts in his mind to fall away._

_"You just were." She said, probably not helping matters by pressing an insistent kiss to his jaw, trying to win him from whatever doubts he still held._

_Distractedly, he kisses her briefly, and can already feel the doubts retreating to one of the darker corners of his mind. He knows they might be back, but he is almost to the point of no longer caring, and finds it not entirely unwelcome._

_He takes the initiative once more, taking a step backwards, and urging for her to follow. After a moment of hesitation, she follows, as he carefully leads her into his bedroom. He lifts her lightly, and puts her on the bed, leaving her be for a moment, as she got used to the idea._

_When she looks at him with want in her eyes, he joins her, sliding atop her, aligning himself against her body. He presses against the juncture of her thighs, his mouth taking advantage of her breathy gasp to resume kissing her._

_She writhed beneath him, from the unfamiliar sensation of being covered by someone else's weight, though when the movement carried her hips against his, she finds the sensation beyond her imagining, her eyes closing, and her breath hitching in her throat._

_His lips began to trail down, from jaw to neck, to spend a moment paying homage to her collarbone. His hands, still agile, moved downward, one to ghost over her side, the other to begin the rather intrepid voyage up her shirt, sliding smoothly over her skin, and bunching the material of her top._

_When she lifts herself up slightly, he is quite willing to assist her in taking off the most bothersome shirt. Dropping it rather indiscriminately over the side of the bed, he focuses on her.The sight of her in a pink bra would have amused him, were her hands not twisted behind her back, and the material of the bra suddenly going slack in the front. He was no longer quite as amused, for other things come to mind, other than her ironic choice of undergarment._

_He only let her move it from her breasts, before he progressed further, and started to show his appreciation. His mouth closed over one of the darker-colored peaks, and began to tease the flesh, bringing it to arousal, before he moved to the other, paying fair homage to the two of them._

_He decided that he rather enjoyed seeing the flush on her cheeks, as she watched him through half-open eyes._

_His mouth then resumed its gradual descent. He nuzzled at her stomach briefly, managing to elicit a faint giggle, before his progress was, once again, halted due to clothing obstruction._

_Again, she came to his aid, unfastening the wickedly short skirt, but allowing him to be the one to pull it past her narrow hips, along with the underlying shorts. Those, too, went to the floor, though whether they landed anywhere near her shirt was anyone's guess. He undid the kunai holster that had been fastened to her thigh, not requiring any assistance with that. It was placed, with a little more consideration, on the rather timeworn nightstand._

_He placed a leisurely kiss against the hollow between hip and torso, just below the thin strap of her underwear, but stopped, when he felt her tense beneath him._

_He was quick to move back upwards, before taking her mouth once more, to soothe away her worries. If this late afternoon into evening was going to be about her, then it was for her to call the shots in._

_It was a long moment, before she finally managed to calm down. A bit nervously, her hands plucked feebly at the dark green jounin vest, before moving down, trying to disengage his shirt from his pants. He calmly brushed her hands aside, and rose a good deal more, more or less straddling her slender waist. It was with deft movements that he took off vest and shirt in one fell swoop._

_It, too, went in the manner of the other things._

_Her hands immediately laid themselves flat against his abdomen, already seeking out the scars that liberally decorated his torso. He could see some pain in her eyes, as her sympathy roused, and simply from just looking at and feeling those scars, long since healed._

_He could not remember anyone else being overly affected by his scars. True, his scarring was a bit more extensive than others, but they were simply a part of what he was. They simply failed to surprise anyone accustomed with the brutal lifestyle._

_But sympathy? Only, perhaps, when the wounds had been raw and fresh and still healing. It was not something he appreciated from others. From her, it was almost…touching._

_Slightly detached, he watched as her hands quickly skimmed over the scarred tissue, and always finding one that hadn't yet fallen under her scrutiny._

_She is looking at him through the eyes of the young, one as of yet untried, one who had no such scars of her own to dull the fascination of seeing someone else's._

_He feels old. He cannot quite remember the last time anyone has cared about looking at his scars. They were as much a part of him as the perennially open Sharingan. They hadn't been anything worth noting, because every single one meant that he had simply survived._

_He doesn't even remember how many he has._

_It is her fingers, touching cautiously around the waistband of his pants that brings him back, almost painfully, to reality._

_She has grown slightly bolder, it seems, and he is quite aware that her tentative, stroking touch is wreaking more havoc on his body than she seems to realize. It is a sweet sort of torture._

_When one of them brushes against his clothed erection, he can hear himself growl, a low sound, from the far depths of his throat, and he cannot help himself. Instead, it seems to only encourage her other hand to palm it, rubbing shyly._

_He can only endure it for a few moments, before he gently takes her hands in one of his own, before he shifts downward, to the end of the bed, Placing his feet on the floor, it is with slow, deliberate movements that he curls his fingers under the waist of her underwear, and draws them down, his eye taking in every detail about her._

_The way she shivered, lifting her hips slightly to accommodate his task of leaving her without a stitch of clothing. The way, after a long moment, her hands shyly darted down, trying to keep the juncture of her thighs from his watchful eye._

_He is gentle, dropping the last of her clothing to the floor, before leaning forward, to take her hands, and move them to her abdomen, where they fidget for a moment, before sliding down to rest on either side, clutching nervously at the sheet beneath her body._

_He smirks, though it is not an unpleasant expression. One of his hands moves, light and deliberate, along her inner thigh, before just brushing against her core. One of his fingers, long and adept, parts her folds, to touch her, rubbing gently downward, before the digit slipped inside her._

_He thinks he could get used to that mewl of unexpected pleasure._

_It is with an artist's touch that he toys with her, stoking the fires of her desire to previously unknown levels, only to change his tactics, to leave her crying out softly, pleading incoherently for him to once more touch her. And he does._

_And he envies that digit its place, as she manages to clamp her legs together, trapping his arm, and experiences what is, quite possibly, the first orgasm she has ever reached, from someone else's touch. He can feel her pulsating around the digit, and it is a long moment before her legs part slightly, allowing him to take back his hand._

_It is with a slightly mischievous look in his eye that he catches her glance, before bringing the finger to his mouth, and slowly cleaning her off his finger. He notices her hands tightening on the sheet, and studying the almost-sated look in her eyes._

_"…please, Kakashi…" She whispered, her voice low and raw with her desire._

_He straightens, and slides off his pants, the heavy material dropping almost soundlessly to the floor, only falling into disarray as he disengages his legs, and kneels once more on the bed, insinuating one of his well-muscled legs between her thighs, which parted with only a nudge._

_Her eyes are tightly closed, and her breathing is still quickened, betraying at once her nervousness and arousal. He leans his forehead against hers for a moment, until she hesitantly opens her eyes._

_"I…I'm not a…a…" She stammered, unable to manage the complete sentence._

_He kisses her briefly, to get her to quiet down._

_He had been the one training her that day, when she had kicked a little too high and too hand. He remembered the way her delicate skin had flushed a dark scarlet, before paling at an alarming rate. She had stood still, her eyes wide with shock, before promptly turning, and walking stiffly away from training. For a long moment, he had wondered, before it occurred to him just what physical activity could do to a girl, and had doubtless happened to his student. She had stayed away for a few days, before resolutely marching back to the training grounds, and falling back into routine with a vengeance._

_He knew she was untouched._

_It had been his business to know everything about them. And since the dynamics of their little team hadn't really changed (aside from Sasuke's return) since their genin years…_

_It was just obvious to one who is well-versed in observation._

_It was with careful hands that he parted her thighs, accommodating himself between her outstretched legs. It is with skilled gentleness that he manages to coax a throaty moan from her, by running his finger between her opening, his touch light and intentionally teasing._

_Her eyes are open as he begins to slide into her, the feeling at once so unusual and unnatural that she tenses once more, afraid of what to expect. His hands rest gently on her thighs, rubbing idly for a moment, until she relaxes, and allows him to progress a little further. Slightly discomfited, feeling herself being stretching in an entirely new way, she shifts beneath him, prompting him to lean forward, and press an assuring kiss on her, to engage her otherwise._

_It is only when she is responding to him that he slides the rest of the way in, his weight resting as lightly as he dared allow atop her, doing his best to show her that it need not be an unpleasant experience. He fights bitterly with himself, for she fits like a perfectly tailored sheath around him, and the spasms as she adjusts to the intrusion are not helping with his already-strained control._

_He withdraws slightly, only to press back in. Encouraged by the sudden widening of her green eyes, he persuades her to wrap her legs around his slender hips, which she loosely does, still unsure of the mechanics of the process._

_It is only when he presses into her once more with a slightly increased amount of force that she gleans the concept, her legs tightening slightly around him, unwilling to let him get too far away._

_That is when he begins to rock against her, the shallow thrusts adjusting her to his entirety._

_When her hips began to respond rising slowly to meet his movements, he begins to love her slowly, gently. She is willing and compliant beneath him, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip, even as her eyes are closed from the sensual stimulation._

_He begins to familiarize himself with her, learning just what he could do to make her writhe beneath him in pleasure, to what would simply earn a weak cry, to what would make her pretty eyes flutter open in surprise and cause her to initiate reciprocal movements._

_He can tell she is getting close, and there is nothing he wants more than to join her in that brief moment, to experience it with her. One of his hands snakes down to the point where their bodies are converged, and begins to lazily circle around the small bundle of nerves, an action that had her half-sobbing with pleasure. Her responses became impassioned, a slightly more primitive part of her brain silently coaching her in her movements, until they moved as one._

_As it felt like her world was shattering around her, she cried out, her legs locking involuntarily around his hips. The lack of escape, coupled with her fierce peak, have him trapped between her legs, spilling himself inside her, his own orgasm so intense that it manages to surprise him._

_She ceases squirming beneath him, breathing deeply, trying to still her rapidly-beating heart, even as he rests his weight on top of her for a long moment, as he focuses on accomplishing the same, before rolling them both onto their sides, still deeply entrenched within her._

_There is a glow on her face that he alone sees._

_Her arms came to slowly wrap around him, pulling him closer, a request that he gladly obliges, taking her into his arms gently, as  
though fearing she might break._

_That had been the start of the two-week period in which she stayed for the night in his apartment, her head tucked under his chin, her arms securely wrapped around him, her legs firmly enmeshed with his own._

_He can remember waking up to the feel of the smooth, unmarked skin on her back underneath his hands, her vibrantly colored hair brushing against his nose as he breathed, still smelling faintly of her favorite shampoo, and the slightly ticklish feeling as one of her fingernails traced lightly around the shape of a scar on his back._

_He had risen first, and gallantly offered her the chance to take the first shower, even volunteering to start running the water. She had agreed to that, but it took her a couple minutes to make her way to the bathroom, walking somewhat uncomfortably. She accepted his help stepping into the water, before a sharp tug had him following her in. He chastely washed the delicate arch of her back, before reaching his arms around her, and making rather a nuisance of himself, until she turned her head around and was met by a leisurely kiss, as he stepped behind her. This time, she did not shy away from the hardness she felt pressing against her. He pressed her against the wall of the shower, and slyly entered her from behind, his hands gently holding onto her hips, as he made love to her under the warm water, neither of them particularly bothered when the heater stopped working, and the stream of water turned cold. When they both found their release, he considerately washed the front of her, ushering her out of the shower when the water finally became too cold, as the heater gave up for the night._

_He had emerged from the bathroom, his hair soaking wet, with just a towel around his hips, to find her making his bed with fresh sheets, also wearing nothing more than a towel, except it was proving to be too little, and he found himself contemplating the soft curves of her rear, until she absently tugged down the material, turning around. The towel was truly trying, though even her small, perfect proportions were doing their best to get free of the too-short, too-small towel._

_…he never realized quite why he liked his towels so much, until now._

_He had rested his chin on the crown of her head, this time smelling his own shampoo, and quietly acknowledging that, while not unpleasant, was still no substitute for her own._

_She was only seventeen, and already the most exquisite creature he had ever known._

_Orihime had manage to stay with her Hikoboshi for two weeks._

_Until Uchiha Sasuke returned to Konoha._

* * *

He didn't like the feeling of loneliness that had reigned in his apartment for over six months. It was entirely too quiet, with just him, and he had never really noticed how much the quiet bothered him.

He rose to his feet, stretching laboriously, before moving over to shut the curtains on his windows, to help keep out the unwelcome winter chill.

He looked at the clock, smiling bitterly at it. It was already after midnight. Tonight would not be one of her nights with him, after all.

"…I hope you enjoyed your , Sakura. Even if you did stay with him again tonight." He murmured, before heading to his bedroom, to try to catch some sleep.

* * *

**Notes **

_Tanabata_ – a Japanese festival, taking place on July 7th ( or August 7th, depending on the region ), in which people write down wishes for something they would like to improve upon, and hang the wish on bamboo. The festival is to celebrate the once-a-year meeting of Orihime and Hikoboshi, as he crosses over the Milky Way, to visit her.

_Orihime_ – the star Vega. Only once a year may she meet with her lover, Hikoboshi. For the rest of the year, they are separated by the Milky Way. He is referring to Sakura by this.

_Hikoboshi_ – the star Altair. Once a year, he crosses the Milky Way to visit with his lover, Orihime, for one night. He is referring to himself; Kakashi can be rather poetic when he wants. As far as he can see, Sakura is just beyond his grasp – close enough to touch, occasionally, but usually too far away for him to reach.

_Omisoka_ – New Year's Eve.

I felt so bad finishing this one. Really. I adore Kakashi. I don't know why I have to do this to him.

Since Kakashi had a lonely holiday season, the next chapter is also going to be KakaSaku. If only to resolve my own guilt. …and mostly because Sasuke doesn't strike me as the type to do much by way of holidays. He has other things on his mind, I'm sure...

-StM_  
_


End file.
